Chapter 7
ANNA
One Week Later
I find him in the twins’ playroom.
He’s crouched down next to Alexei, examining the elaborate tower of blocks my son just built. Mila sits a few feet away with her dolls, watching them both with uncertain eyes. Neither of the twins is speaking. They just stare at Luca like he’s a puzzle they can’t solve.
My blood goes cold.
“What are you doing?” My voice cuts across the room.
Luca looks up. His expression doesn’t change. “Talking to the children.”
“Mila. Alexei. Come here.”
They scramble to their feet immediately and run to me. I put a hand on each of their shoulders and steer them toward the door. “Go to your rooms,” I tell them. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Mila looks back at Luca once before disappearing into the hallway. Alexei doesn’t look back at all.
Once I hear the click of their bedroom door, I gesture for Luca to leave the playroom as well. “We’re not talking about this here. In their space.”
He shrugs. “Fine.” And he grabs my arm and pulls me down the hallway after him until we reach his office.
He practically throws me inside, closes the door behind us, and turns to face me.
He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, perfectly calm.
Like he didn’t just invade the one space I’ve tried to keep separate from him. “So talk.”
“You need to stop doing this,” I say.
“Doing what? Speaking to children who live in my house?”
“They’re my children.”
“They’re living under my roof. Eating my food. Protected by my security. That makes them part of my household, whether you like it or not.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to corner them when I’m not around.”
“I wasn’t cornering them. I was introducing myself. Something you’ve made impossible for two weeks.”
I cross my arms. “They don’t need to know you.”
“Why?” He takes a step closer. “What exactly do you think I’m going to do to them?”
“I don’t know. That’s the problem.”
“I’ve given you no reason to think I’d harm children.”
“You forced me into this marriage. You threatened my family. You bought me like I’m a piece of property. Forgive me if I don’t trust your intentions.”
His jaw tightens. “This arrangement benefits everyone. Your parents keep their company. You and your children have security and resources you couldn’t provide on your own. I get a legitimate public image and control over Kestrel Maritime. Everyone wins.”
“Except I didn’t want any of this.”
“What you wanted was irrelevant. Your father made decisions that put your family in an impossible position. I offered a solution. You accepted it.”
“Because I had no choice.”
“You always had a choice. You chose your children’s future over your pride. That was smart.”
The words hit like a slap. Because he’s right. I did choose this. I walked down that aisle. I signed those papers. I let him touch me.
But that doesn’t mean I have to let him near Mila and Alexei.
“Stay away from them,” I say.
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
He takes another step closer. We’re only a few feet apart now. “I said no. They live here. I live here. We’re going to exist in the same space. You can’t keep them locked away from me forever.”
“Watch me.”
“This is ridiculous. You’re treating me like a threat when I’ve done nothing but provide for them.”
“You don’t provide for them. You provide for yourself. They’re just part of the transaction.”
“And you’re making everything harder than it needs to be.” His voice is still calm, but there’s an edge now. “I’m not asking for much. Just basic civility. The ability to walk through my own house without you acting like I’m going to hurt children I have no interest in harming.”
“Then why do you keep trying to talk to them?”
“Because ignoring their existence is more suspicious than acknowledging it.”
“So this is about appearances.”
“Everything is about appearances. You should know that by now.”
I want to argue and scream at him that he doesn’t get to decide how I protect my children. But he’s standing too close now, and I can smell his cologne. Something with cedar and smoke. The same scent that was all over me the morning after our wedding night.
My body remembers that night. Remembers how he felt inside me. How my hands gripped his shoulders while he moved. How I came apart beneath him, even though I hated him for it.
I take a step back. He notices.
“What are you afraid of, Anna?”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“Then what?”
I don’t answer because the truth is complicated and dangerous and something I can never tell him. “You’re impossible,” I say instead.
“And you’re paranoid.”
“I have every reason to be.”
“Name one. One actual reason beyond the forced marriage you’ve already accepted.”
“You’re a criminal.”
“I’m a businessman.”
“You kill people.”
“When necessary. Never children. Never without cause.” He tilts his head slightly. “Is that what this is about? You think I’m going to hurt Mila and Alexei?”
“I think you’re capable of it.”
“Capable and willing are different things. I’m capable of a lot of things I don’t do.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s the truth. Which is more than you’ve given me since you moved in here.”
The accusation catches me off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re hiding something. I don’t know what yet, but I will. I always do.”
My heart pounds against my ribs. “There’s nothing to hide.”
“Then why do you look terrified right now?”
“I’m not terrified. I’m angry.”
“Angry people don’t shake.”
I look down. My hands are trembling. I clench them into fists and force myself to meet his eyes again. “Get out of my way,” I say.
“No.”
“Luca—”
“You want to keep running from me, fine. But this conversation isn’t over. You’re my wife. Those children are living in my house. At some point, you’re going to have to stop treating me like the enemy.”
“You are the enemy.”
“Then why did you marry me?”
“Because you gave me no choice!”
“You keep saying that like it absolves you of responsibility. You made a choice. You walked down that aisle. You consummated the marriage. You moved into my house. Those were all choices.”
“Forced choices.”
“Still choices.”
I shove past him toward the door. He catches my wrist.
“Let go of me.”
“Not until you listen.”
“I don’t want to listen to you.”
“Too bad.”
I try to pull away. His grip tightens. Not enough to hurt, just enough to keep me from leaving his office.
“You’re going to hurt yourself struggling like that,” he says.
“Then let go.”
“Answer my question first. Why are you really keeping the twins away from me?”
“Because they’re mine.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
We’re standing too close again. I can feel the heat coming off his body. See the green of his eyes up close. My pulse is racing, but it’s not just anger anymore. It’s the same thing I felt on our wedding night. The same pull I’ve been fighting for two weeks.
I hate him. I hate everything he represents. But my body doesn’t care about that.
“Let go,” I say again, but my voice comes out quieter this time.
His eyes drop to my mouth. “Make me.”
I slam both palms into his chest with every ounce of strength I have.
He staggers back one step. I follow fast, shoving him again until his hips hit the edge of the desk.
Papers slide and scatter. I grab the front of his shirt and yank him down so our mouths crash together.
I bite his lower lip hard enough to taste copper.
He growls into my mouth and spins us in one brutal motion. My back slams against the desk. The edge digs into my ass.
One hand fists my hair at the nape and yanks my head back so my throat is exposed. The other rips the neckline of my dress. Fabric tears. Cool air hits my breasts. My nipples tighten instantly. He palms one roughly, pinching the peak until I hiss through my teeth.
“You want to play rough?” His voice is low and dangerous. “Fine. But you’re going to take every fucking inch.”
I claw at his arms, nails digging in deep enough to draw blood. He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he shoves my dress up to my waist, hooks his fingers in my underwear, and yanks them down my thighs in one violent pull. The lace snaps. He kicks my feet apart wider.
I reach between us, fumbling with his belt. The buckle clatters. I shove his pants open, wrap my hand around his cock, and squeeze hard. He’s thick, hot, already leaking at the tip. I stroke him once, rough and fast. His hips jerk forward into my grip.
“Fuck,” he mutters, voice strained.
I line him up and guide him to my entrance. No warning. I sink down at the same time he thrusts up. He spears into me in one brutal stroke. The stretch burns, sharp and overwhelming. I gasp, nails raking down his shoulders through his shirt. He groans low, buried to the hilt.
For a second, we freeze like that, breathing hard, locked together.
Then the fight starts again.
I rock my hips forward, trying to set the pace, trying to ride him the way I want.
He lets me for three strokes. Then his hands clamp my waist and lift me like I weigh nothing.
He spins me around, bends me over the desk, and kicks my legs wider.
My palms slap down on scattered files. Pens roll to the floor.
He fists my hair again, yanking my head back so I have to arch. His other hand grips my hip so hard I know it will bruise. He drives back in from behind, deeper this time, hitting so far inside I cry out.
“Still think you can control this?” he growls against my ear. His hips snap forward, relentless. The desk creaks under us. “Your cunt is soaked. Gripping me like it never wants to let go. You hate me, but you’re wet for your husband.”
“Shut up,” I snarl. I push back against him, meeting every thrust, trying to take him deeper on my own terms. My body betrays me. Every slam sends sparks through my core. I clench around him hard, wanting to make him lose it first.
He laughs, dark and rough. “That’s it. Fight me. Make me work for it.” He yanks my hair harder, forcing my spine to bow. His free hand slides around to my front, fingers finding my clit and rubbing in rough circles. Pleasure coils vicious and fast. I buck against him, cursing under my breath.
“You’re going to come,” he says, voice thick. “You’re going to come all over my cock while you hate every second of it. Say my name when you do.”
“Fuck you, Luca.”
He thrusts harder, punishing. The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room. My thighs tremble. My toes curl against the carpet. I bite my own arm to muffle the moan building in my throat.
He pulls my head back farther, mouth at my ear. “Say it again. Say my fucking name, wife.”
I twist, trying to turn in his grip. He lets me spin halfway.
I shove him back until he hits the desk again.
I climb onto him, straddling his lap, and sink down hard.
He groans, hands flying to my hips. I ride him fast and angry, grinding my clit against his pelvis on every downstroke.
My nails dig into his neck, leaving red trails.
He surges up, captures my mouth in a bruising kiss. I bite his tongue. He growls and flips us again. My back hits the desk once more. He hooks my legs over his shoulders, folding me open, and drives in so deep my vision blurs.
“Look at me,” he orders.
I glare up at him through the haze. Sweat beads on his forehead. His shirt hangs open. Scratches mark his chest. His eyes are wild.
“You feel that?” He grinds against me, circling his hips so every inch drags against my walls. “That’s me owning you. Every thrust. Every inch. You can scratch. You can bite. You can curse me. But you’re mine now.”
I arch up, meeting him thrust for thrust. “I hate you.”
“Good.” He slams in harder. “Hate me while you come.”
His fingers find my clit again, rubbing fast and rough. The pressure snaps something inside me. Heat explodes through my body. I come hard, clenching around him in violent pulses, a raw scream tearing from my throat.
My nails rake down his back, and he hisses, thrusts turning erratic. He buries himself deep and follows me over the edge. Hot spurts flood me. I feel every pulse, every throb as he empties inside. His groan is low and broken against my neck.
We stay locked together for long seconds, breathing ragged. His weight pins me to the desk. My legs shake around his shoulders. Sweat slicks our skin.
Then reality crashes in.
I push against his chest. “Get off me.”
He pulls out slowly. Wetness follows, dripping down my thighs. He steps back. I slide off the desk on unsteady legs and yank my dress down. My underwear is shredded somewhere on the floor. I don’t look for it.
“Anna—”
“Don’t.”
“We need to talk about this.”
I turn to face him. He’s tucking his shirt back in, but his hair is a mess, and there are scratches on his neck from my nails.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say. “This doesn’t change anything.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No. You’re still the man who forced me into this marriage. I still hate you. This was just…” I gesture vaguely between us. “Physical.”
“Just physical.”
“Yes.”
He studies me for a long moment. Then he crosses the space between us in two strides and grips my jaw, forcing me to look at him.
“You’re my wife,” he says, voice low and hard.
“You live in my house. You sleep in my bed when I tell you to. You will stop treating me like a stranger you’re forced to tolerate.
This is your life now. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be for everyone. ”
I yank my face out of his grip. “Go to hell.”
“Already there. You’re coming with me.”
I grab my shoes from where they ended up near the door and leave without looking back.
My legs are shaking as I walk down the hallway. I can still feel him between my thighs. Still taste him on my lips.
I hate him.
I hate that I wanted that.
I hate that I already know it’s going to happen again.
When I reach my room, I lock the door and lean against it. My phone buzzes with a text from Lina asking how married life is treating me.
I don’t respond.
Instead, I go to the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. My lips are swollen. My hair is a mess. There’s a mark on my neck that will definitely bruise.
I look exactly like what I am.